


What Do You See?

by deltachye



Category: Samurai Champloo
Genre: Dark, F/M, One Shot, Poetry, Romance, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-17
Updated: 2016-09-17
Packaged: 2018-08-16 15:36:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8107957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deltachye/pseuds/deltachye
Summary: [reader x jin]When you look back;What do you see?





	

‘ 仁 。’

* * *

 

“Are you crying?”

The tall man looked down at you, a thin eyebrow arched. You did not flinch, but your grip on the umbrella’s bamboo handle tightened somewhat. Your shoulders tensed with apprehension and there was stiff silence as you waited for a response.

“No,” he replied quietly, his gaze softening somewhat. He continued to look at you as if you were very distant, his dark eyes meeting yours, despite his soul having drifted elsewhere. The irises were dark and glassy and it looked very much as if you were talking to a walking dead man.

“You looked as if you were.”

Streaks of water lined his pale, sallow face, and you pointed to twin trails that traced from his lifeless eyes.

“It’s raining,” he said flatly.

“Yes, well… I suppose it is.” You looked up into the sky, peering out from under the cover of the umbrella. Cold winter rain splattered on your exposed skin and you flinched. When you recovered, the tall man was already striding away, his dark keikogi trailing behind him in time with long measured steps.

“W-wait a minute!” you called out hastily. He paused but did not turn, forcing you to jog back up to him in the dirt road. Your sandals caught in the mud but you struggled forwards in order to face him. Your breath came a little hard, but you continued, determined to a fault. “Who are you?”

“…do you do nothing but ask questions?” His expression was difficult to read in the mist, but you persisted.

“Are you a traveler? A vagabond?” you pressed. “Without a home?”

He scoffed gently, and then paused, as if deciding whether or not he should humour you. Finally, he nodded once.

“Something like that.”

“I work at a restaurant… if you want, I’m sure my employer would let you stay for the night, as long as you don’t make a mess.”

“Why would you do that? Do you expect me to pay? I don’t have any money and I can’t cook.”

“Oh, no, I don’t want money, or help… um, how about this? In exchange for a meal and a room, you’ll tell me your story.”

“…you’re an awfully odd woman, to walk up to a stranger and demand to know about them immediately.”

You smiled wryly.

“Something like that, yes.”

“What makes you think I have a story?”

“Because it is odd to see a samurai alone, crying in the rain.” You held out your umbrella to him, just enough so that you were still dry. Frigid mist tickled the nape of your neck. “I think you have a past that you’re trying to hide, Lone Samurai. Am I right?”

Instead of answering the question, he took the umbrella and used his advantageous height to shelter the both of you. You walked close to his side and led him down the main road to where the restaurant you worked and lived at was. He followed silently, before finally asking a single question.

“Why are you helping me?”

“I want to know your story. Besides, you’re a liar, and I want to know why you lie.”

“I’m not a liar.”

“Yes, you are.” You chuckled gently, the hem of your kimono rustling against the fabric of his hakama. He offered no warmth from his body but you leant closer anyways, allowing him to steal yours. “You were crying.”

“I was not.”

“Can you prove it to me?”

“You are very troublesome,” he sighed, but continued to walk with you in tow.

 

\---

The Lone Samurai ate and fell asleep before you could do much talking. His clothes were damp and you worried that he might catch cold when he woke, but you weren’t about to strip down a stranger, and left him blanketed with a quick prayer for his health. The following morning, he had not fled, and instead was staring out the balcony as if trying to decipher a scripture painted in the skies.

“Breakfast is ready,” you said, kneeling beside him. You peered up at his face, trying to read him, but saw nothing. “How was your night?”

“Pleasant. Thank you for allowing me to stay here.”

“It’s no problem. The nights are cold in Oshu; it’d be no good to let you sleep in the streets.” You paused a moment to see if he would take the initiative to continue the conversation, but he continued to stare outside wordlessly. You took a peek past the sliding door, too, but saw nothing but the same old scenery you always saw. There was nothing of interest that could steal the entirety of a man’s attention.

“You haven’t yet told me your name,” you prodded, slowly losing patience with his lack of responsiveness.

“My name is Jin.”

“Oh, Jin? As in ‘person’?”

“No. Benevolence.” He turned to you and held out his large hand. You placed your hand in his without hesitation, palm up, and felt a shiver run down the length of your spine when he took his index finger and traced the character on your sensitive skin. You glanced up at him and saw him staring down at your hands, the same melancholy look in his angular eyes. He was more handsome than you had initially thought, and although he seemed ragged, he looked strong. Masculine.

“Are you a good man, then, Jin?”

“…pardon?” He did not pull his hand away from you and merely looked up inquisitively. You smiled slightly, turning your palm downwards and curling your warm hand over his.

“Are you a good man? Or are you deceiving the world by having the name of Benevolence without being benevolent?”

“Am I a good man?” he replied dryly, more as a retort than anything else. “You can tell me that yourself.”

“I don’t know you at all, Jin.”

“The only one that knows a man is a man himself. And even then, mankind cannot begin to hope to interpret his own mind.”

His words jogged a thought you had once had. But his hand was cold underneath yours; like ice. Or one of a corpse’s harrowed by death. You placed the other underneath his, warming the skin by feeling the heat seep out of you.

“Do you know what the difference between dreams and life are?” you questioned.

“No.”

“They differ only in duration and the sensation of pain. When in a dream, you get to glimpse—but only glimpse at—another world, yet you feel no pain. When alive, you endure for as long as you breathe, and when you breathe, you hurt. Which would you prefer? Fleeting bliss or eternal suffering?”

The corners of his lips turned up into a delicate smile and he adjusted the glasses on his nose so that they reflected the morning sun hauntingly.

“There are such things as nightmares.”

“Just as there are such things as good memories.” You let go. “Now come, or the miso will get cold.”

 

\---

“I’ve told you my name, but you haven’t told me yours.”

When you gave it to him, he merely blinked and nodded. You pressed your lips together peevishly.

“You’d do well to remember it.”

“And why’s that?” he asked, more to humour you than with interest.

“I’m going to be famous, one day. People, children and old, all across Japan—no, everybody of the world—they will all know my name.”

“And why’s that?”

“I’m a poet. I’m trying to get recognition, but for now, I have to work at this restaurant so that I can earn up some savings. Then I’m going to go to a school, and live my life as a master of words.”

“Ah, you’re a fledging poet, then. No wonder you speak so pretentiously.”

“Hey!” you retorted, but laughed all the same. “Well, I suppose you’re right.”

“Why poetry? Why not painting or playing an instrument?”

“My hands are too clumsy for any form of playing, and my drawings resemble that of a dazed infant’s. You don’t need to write beautiful cursive to write poems; as long as you write something good.

“Poetry… it’s an art form in words. Whereas in paintings you see, and music you hear… in poetry, you can do both, and in all, you feel. I don’t know why I like poetry, honestly. But perhaps it is because I want others to feel.”

“And what feelings might you be trying to inflict upon others?”

“Nothing bad… usually. Art is subjective.”

His eyelashes fluttered somewhat and he set down the rag he had been using to clean. He stared at you piercingly, before looking back to the table and resuming its cleaning.

“You’re an odd woman,” was all he said.

“Yes, I suppose I am.”

 

\---

“Shogi?”

Jin had brought out the old shogi board the restaurant owner kept in the back, and had already set it up in the room you and he were sharing. He looked up before glancing back down to the board, scrutinizing the placement of the pieces. He’d been playing himself, it seemed. For now, it looked to be in a stalemate.

“Yes. Do you play?”

“Not well, but I know the rules. The game ends at checkmate, yes?”

“As in all forms of chess, yes.”

“Perhaps I’ll try you once, then.”

Obliging, he cleared the board. The pieces clacked against the tiles. You set them diligently to affirm that you remembered how to play. The game commenced slowly but became aggressive quickly. At one point, he paused, taking his chin in one hand to think. You seized the chance to rest and looked up at him, placing your own head in both hands, balancing the weight on the table with your elbows.

“Jin? You’re a ronin, aren’t you?”

“You knew, then?”

“You don’t seem like a man who is following a lord. I won’t ask you what happened, but I can just tell.”

“How so, then? I haven’t told you much about myself.”

“No, you haven’t. It’s shown in the way you move your pieces. You don’t look back, see? Only men with nothing to lose don’t look back. You sacrificed that piece without a second’s thought.” Said soldier piece twirled up into the air before landing back in your palm.

“The objective of life is to continue moving forwards. What good is there to look back?”

“The essence of life is to look back to remember what is worth moving forwards for.”

“…you lose.”

“What?! Ah, and I thought I had tricked you with that pawn…”

“Tell me something,” he said quietly, interrupting your pitiful whining. “When you look back, what do you see?”

“What? Me?” You pursed your lips and sat back on your heels, looking up at the ceiling. You grinned at him. “You first.”

“You lost, so I believe it would fall to you to reveal your hand first.”

“Jin, you’re shiftier than you look, aren’t you? Very well. When I look back, I see…”

“Oi, where are you?! There are customers waiting!”

You flinched at the sound of your boss’ voice and hastily got to your feet, bowing shortly to Jin.

“Sorry, I’ve got to go. We’ll talk later, won’t we? Y-yes, coming, sir!”

Jin gathered his katana and short sword, looking at you before nodding once.

“Sure,” he replied quietly to your back as you trotted back into the restaurant. He looked down at his swords and then at the shogi pieces. When he had first met you, you had accused him of a liar. He had denied it.

He rose and tucked his swords away, clearing the board before stepping outside of the building.

Your suspicions had been correct. A liar, a faker, and a fraud; all were things of bastardy, but all were things he was. Running from the dojo and his past had meant sacrificing honour in favour of survival. He stopped in the street and glanced back at the building for only a short while before striding away. It was a shame he would never hear the rest of your story.

 

\---

_Are you a good man?_

_You were lying to me then_

_When you looked at me._

_“Looking back, what do you see?”_

_My answer was ‘bitter rue’._

 

\---

“This is an interesting place to meet again, Jin.”

“…I suppose.”

The prison cell was dark, but there was no mistaking his lean, slender figure. You leant forwards and squinted.

“You lost your glasses?”

“They were confiscated.”

“Well, I’m glad to know you’re as talkative as ever.”

“And I’m glad to know you still have a penchant for needless questions.”

The two of you laughed quietly to the tune of a man’s groans of agony. You were certain that the body next to you was one of a corpse’s, but you focused on Jin instead.

“What did you do?”

“I could ask the same to you.”

“Alright, I’ll tell you.” You inhaled wearily, the smell of human excrement and urine heavy in the air. “I was accused of treason.”

“Oh? Did you try and leak Lord Tokugawa’s secrets?”

“No, of course not. I merely wrote a couple of poems. The MPs thought they were incriminating. That’s all.”

“Ah. So you’re still chasing that dream.”

“You say the word ‘chasing’ as if I’m a stray dog trying to bite its own ass.”

“I wouldn’t be saying it to you at all if you had actually been successful, thus, not landing yourself in prison. Dogs run in circles too, don’t they?”

“And you, then? How did you get yourself here?”

“I killed the local magistrate and his squad.”

The good humour disappeared as your smile melted off of your face.

“Ah. I see.”

“You should do well to learn these rules I have set for myself. Do not wield a sword if you cannot kill. Do not trust others. Know the enemy better than you know yourself. Do not slack off. Do not go back on one’s word. And,” he continued, looking directly at you, “do not ask questions if you aren’t prepared for the answer.”

“You sound pretentious, Jin. Did you know that?”

“I could say the same to you.”

 

\---

He roused you awake by kicking you in the face. You gasped with hot pinpricks of pain and the sudden foul taste of Earth, struggling to sit up since your hands were bound. Jin squatted and slid a blade dangerously close to your skin, releasing the tension of the ropes. You rubbed your welted flesh gratefully.

“Where did you get that?” you asked, bewildered as he pulled you to your feet.

“If you wanted to know, you shouldn’t have fallen asleep.” With that he let go of you and ran, his figure disappearing into the darkness. It didn’t take you long before you were sprinting after him.

“Let me go with you!” you panted after catching up with him, keeping pace by pure determination alone. He gave you a side glance but did not accept or reject your request. The whistles of the police screeched through the roads. After ducking into an alley, you shoved your sleeve into your mouth to muffle the sounds of your laboured breathing. Jin did not seem to be affected by exertion at all and had a wary hand on the hilt of his recaptured katana. The whistles grew closer, and closer… and then they ceased. An order to retreat rang out and the marching of footsteps faded.

After a tense minute, he lifted his hand and looked at you with indifference in his eyes.

“What does a poet want with a ronin?” he asked bluntly, tone flat and riddled with suspicion.

“Your story,” you gasped, still out of breath. You swallowed back the rusty taste of blood lining the back of your throat and sat a little straighter. “You never told me it.”

“…I didn’t?”

“You’ve got to have some shred of honour in you, right? Won’t you tell me?”

“It’s a long story.”

“Listening to those are my specialty.”

“Fine. In return, you will also have to tell me something.”

“What is it?”

“That day, when we were practicing shogi. You were to tell me what you saw when you looked back. I never got to hear what you were about to say.”

There was silence.

“Hey, Jin,” you said abruptly. “If I asked you to kill me right now, would you?”

A flash of confusion and hesitation passed over his features and he narrowed his eyes. Instinctively, his tapered fingers rested on the hilt of his short sword.

“Why?”

“Would you?” You stared at him expectantly, determination welling in your eyes.

“If that was what you wanted—if that is what you _want_ —then yes. I would.”

“Good.” Satisfied, you nodded. “I’ll tell you everything, if you promise me that.”

“If you wanted to die, why would you want it at my hand?”

“Isn’t it obvious? Because you’re a good man.”

 

\---

“Staying in this city becomes dangerous for us. They’ll be hunting us at every step.”

“I am aware,” he replied.

“But leaving is a challenge, too…”

“I am aware.” He sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. The two of you walked through the side alleys of the main streets, which were empty, the early hours of morning too much for the citizens. The MPs had given up for the moment and retreated, allowing you and Jin a little freedom to move.

“So, tell me about your story,” you said suddenly, pulling on his sleeve. He looked down at you exasperatedly as a man might with a snotty child.

“Now?”

“Yes, now. Who knows when they might catch us again?”

He clucked his tongue with disapproval but stopped, spying a road that led off of the main path. Off west, there would be an outcrop in the mountains, which would be somewhat more private than the road.

“This way.”

The two of you walked together in silence before reaching the edge of the cliff. The path was dangerous and, inexperienced, you tripped so often that Jin gave up and carried you on his back. Wrapped around him, you could feel the warmth through his clothes, and it relaxed you. However, something about him unsettled you.

“You smell like blood.”

The iron filled your nose along with scents of sandalwood, creating a cologne of death and life that nearly dizzied you.

“It’s obvious why, isn’t it?” he murmured.

“It’s not tasteful,” you said quietly, lowering your head so that your face nuzzled into the crook of his neck, “but it suits you. Is that strange?”

“Perhaps.”

 

\---

“So that’s that.”

“…I see.”

You were cold, in the dusk, but his tale had left you feeling even colder. You drew your knees up to your chin and hugged them to your chest, chewing your lip thoughtfully.

“Was it up to standard?” he asked wryly.

“There is no standard when it comes to one’s history. Each differs.”

“And yours? I doubt yours is in the same light as mine.”

“Well, I certainly didn’t kill anybody. But… perhaps we might be more similar than I thought.” You looked up at him, finally meeting his gaze. He held it steadily. No remorse was etched into his face; no guilt, no regret. It was just the face of a beautiful man. The fine angular lines of his sculpted face and the length of his dark lashes made him look almost like the statues the Europeans had fashioned. Alienesque, too perfect—and beautiful all the same.

Did you look that way, as well? Did you ever _want_ to?

“Jin. If you had not met me that day, would you have continued to live?”

“If you had not met me, would you have continued to write poems?”

“Yes, of course,” you replied, uncertain with his train of thought. He turned to look away, back out to the mountains.

“Because we do what we must. We breathe because we must. We drink and eat and sleep and agree to sinful desires because we must. We cry because we must. We seek others because we must. We live because we must.”

“But we don’t have to. I asked you if you would kill me, and you agreed. Right now, I could be dead. If I leapt off this cliff, I could be dead. If I took your short sword and stabbed myself, I could be dead. If I decided not to eat or drink or sleep, I could be dead. It only takes the thought: I mustn’t live.”

“Do you have that thought?”

“Not yet.”

“Then you won't die.”

You sighed and also looked out to the horizon. The pink flecks of daylight were streaking the skies and you inhaled deeply, the chill of the air freeing the insides of your nostrils.

“I prefer sunrises to sunsets,” Jin commented, the light refracting off of his lenses to obscure his expression. “It signifies the dawn of a new day.”

“I prefer night time myself. It reminds me of Hell.”

“Well,” Jin said, “I suppose everybody’s mind differs.”

 

\---

“Back when we were playing shogi those months ago—”

“It all comes back to that day for you, doesn’t it? What I was going to say, and on and on… what makes you think I have that good of a memory to answer your questions?” The two of you walked side-by-side on a now busy street, having returned to the city because of a lack of anything else to do. People jostled you left and right, but it was probably better to have a mass of people as your shield, what with swords holstered in people’s belts left and right. They strayed from Jin, however, assuming that he was a samurai. The thought made you sneer. If only they knew how many souls were trapped in those blades…

“I was saying. You played well, for a self-proclaimed amateur. Did anybody teach you?”

“No, I wasn’t special enough for that. I merely watched others and copied what they did.”

“So you’re a plagiarizer. Are you sure that’s a good trait for an author to have?”

“I don’t need to plagiarize work. There’s plenty of things to write about, hm?” You gave him a knowing wink that he did not respond to, save for a slight eye roll.

“People are after my blood. I beg of you as not to write about my whereabouts or wellbeing, if you ever do get published.”

“Ah? So you do believe that I could get published, some day?”

Another eye roll.

 

\---

“Hey, babe. Lemme buy you something to eat.”

Surprised with the sudden address, you struggled to find the response you were looking for. The ugly man leered at you, his head misshapen like a rotten sweet potato. A lone yellowed tooth hut out of his mouth and did not look as if it were far from joining the rest of his missing teeth. Wispy remnants of hair were frantically combed over his balding head and a frail strand grew from a brown wart that resembled rabbit droppings. You shook your head with a polite smile that was obviously forced.

“No, thank you, sir.”

“I said, _bitch_ , lemme buy you somethin’, and get a feeler of those.” The nasty grin that he had worn to bear his tobacco stained gums vanished and he reached towards your breasts. Defensively you slapped his hand away, hugging the other hand close to yourself. In broad daylight, you should have felt at ease, but men did with women what they wanted and you knew that you were in trouble.

“What? You think you got some guts to defy _me_ like that?! I’ll take your pretty whore head as a trophy, then!” The man drew his sword and you swallowed thickly. The sound his katana made as it drew from its scabbard was piercing, and the blade was horrifically neglected, only lending to its ferocity with that jagged edge.

You were going to die.

 

\---

What is the journey?

Is it the trek across land

Or is it your Soul?

Whatever you are seeking

I would guess that you don’t know.

 

\---

Jin’s silhouette over the man who had drawn over you looked very much like that of a Death Reaper come to take a life.

“Put down your weapon.”

“What?! Says who?” the man turned away from you, allowing you to breathe a harsh gasp of relief. Your knees trembled and you fought yourself as not to sink to the dirt road. Jin stood, looking disgruntled, his dark gaze moving past the man entirely to you.

“I leave you alone for one minute and this is what happens.”

“I… I’m sorry,” you wheezed, unsure of how he could remain so calm when a man—obviously a magistrate or higher—was wielding a sharp sword right at Jin’s throat. He noticed the distress in your gaze and finally seemed to notice the magistrate, who screamed so emphatically that spittle flew from his lip.

“That’s it. You two wretched scums are under arrest!” he screeched, turning back to you. “I’ll put you under the damn death penalty, I’ll—”

What happened next could only be described as watching an artist paint. Only, the artist was Jin, and his brush was his sword. You scarce saw what happened. It was as if the movement of his blade had become that of a spider’s web—luminous, and barely there, but not visible unless one was attuned to see it. It was over before it had begun and you inhaled sharply as a hot splatter of blood rained down on your cheek. The magistrate’s words died in an instant, his tongue numbing with death, cutting the words mid-syllable. Jin flicked his blade, the rest of the magistrate’s blood drawing a line in the dust, as if it were a connect-the-dots to the fat corpse that lay steaming in hot afternoon air.

“Will you run with me?” he asked you coldly.

“I… let’s go.” You swallowed down the nausea and turned heel, taking Jin’s cold, cold hand, and ran.

 

\---

Ronin; Murderer

Broken Man with working swords.

they trailed like webs!

soft in the evening light

…Webs trap prey to Devour.

 

\---

“There,” you murmured, pressing down on the wound Jin had gotten. You hadn’t seen it at all—you hadn’t seen Jin draw, even—but the magistrate must have had enough strength in him to land a shallow laceration on Jin’s arm. Yet, Jin was alive with you, and the man was dead; so really, there was little competition of who was to be declared the winner. But, in this time of peace after the Warring States era… could you really call a murderer a winner?

His eyelids fluttered but otherwise, he showed no sign of pain. Your hand dragged down from his forearm to his hand, examining the bracelet he wore. Your fingers danced over the beads. After a while he pulled away and began to wipe down his blades, his entire posture ceremonious and at peace. It were as if he was merely wiping down those swords for upkeeping’s sake rather than erasing the last traces of another man’s blood.

“Are you hurt?” he asked, his deep voice a low rumble in the abandoned house.

“No. Thanks to you.”

“Are you afraid of me?”

“…no.”

“Even if you are lying to me,” he said, taking a cloth and gently passing it over your face. You flinched at the cold, damp silk, but allowed him to rub the traces of dried blood off of your skin. He continued as you held your breath. “I find that answer to be somewhat… comforting.”

You placed your hand over the one holding the cloth, holding him to you, and closed your eyes.

“I’m not lying.”

 

\---

“You spent the last of your money on a calligraphy brush?”

“How’s a poet going to write without a brush?”

“You don’t have any paper.”

“Hush, hush. I can always write on your back now, can’t I? What’s a samurai without any tattoos? You’ll look cool with a haiku down to your—”

“I forbid it.”

You smiled and then pocketed the brush. The shopkeeper—a fragile looking elderly woman—attempted to hush a child in her arms. The baby wailed, as all infants did. You were about to leave, but Jin stood still, his lips pursed as if he wanted to ask something.

“Is the child your grandchild?” you asked, turning your interest to the woman, curious with Jin’s behaviour.

“Yes, and she won’t quiet. There there, darling, everything is fine…”

“May I?”

The words, coming from Jin of all people, startled even you. The woman narrowed her eyes suspiciously, but then decided to trust him, most likely because of her own exhaustion. You watched with muted awe as Jin took the swaddled infant in his arms, placing her head in the crook of his elbow expertly. It took only a minute of rocking before the baby halted her shrills, the screams dying down to confused warbles. Her hand, tiny and fat, reached up and grasped a fistful of his dark hair. Jin looked down at the child’s face before pulling himself out of the girl’s weak grasp, handing the swaddled infant back to the woman. The shopkeeper sighed with relief and took the child back from Jin, who looked very much like the father in the silhouette of the sun.

“Thank you so much! Oh, my poor ears. I am forever grateful. Please, take that brush for free, in compensation for your time and trouble.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” Jin said smoothly with a nod. He bowed to the woman graciously. You followed suit hastily, still trying to get over what you had just seen.

“The two of you ought to conceive soon. Youth does not linger for long!” She cackled at the hot blush blooming across your face, despite your best attempts to hide it behind the fringe of your hair.

“Oh, no, we’re not—”

“We’ll be taking our leave. Good day.” Jin gave you an expectant look, his countenance betraying no emotion besides serenity. You swallowed your embarrassment.

The two of you bowed to the shopkeeper and her granddaughter once more and continued to wander down the road. After spending a night in the abandoned teahouse at the edge of the town, the two of you had moved onto the next, where news of the murdering ronin had not yet reached. The day was warm, like any other, and your nerves had managed to settle. The old lady waved to the both of you until she was out of sight.

“Now that you’re free from jail, what will you do?” he asked.

“I might have to travel.” You looked up as you said this, watching the clouds whip across the sky with great haste. They were large and white, and if you reached up, you felt as if you might catch them… of course, it was impossible, and you looked back to Jin with both hands at your sides.

“Overseas?” Jin asked, a bit dubiously. You pursed your lips.

“I don’t know where I’ll go. Perhaps I’ll never leave Japan and only go as far as Edo. It isn’t as if the Europeans would care much for Japanese written poems.”

“But you are leaving?”

“Yes. We’ll be parting ways, soon.”

He nodded once, but an unmistakable sadness clouded his eyes. You peered up to him with a smug grin stretching your lips.

“What’s that? Will you miss me?”

“Not in the slightest. But I will admit, your company was not entirely intolerable.”

“Charming as ever, Jin. Charming. You ought to marry, soon.”

“What’s this?” he asked, his brow furrowing into a heavy scowl. “Why are you bringing up marriage all of the sudden?”

“A vagabond ronin. That’s not attractive at all. Not to mention the lives trapped in your sword.” You tapped the hilt of them with a finger and he flinched away from you, stepping aside. It was incredibly discourteous to touch another samurai’s swords, but at this point, you doubted he minded.

“I could say to you. I assume that you left your restaurant long ago; so you’re also without a home. A vagabond poet. That’s even less attractive.”

“Women aren’t meant to carry swords.”

“And what damage will you do with that brush?”

You looked down at your sleeve, where the writing brush and inkstone sat heavily, swaying in the fabric. You sighed through your nose and looked up to the sky, red with the setting sun.

“I’m not meant to do damage. The brush is only meant to write words for other people to feel.”

“Again, I have to wonder what you might make your audience feel.”

“Maybe I’ll write about you after all. And then you can ask my audience how they feel about you yourself. Then you’ll know how others see you. There are a million ‘yous’ in the world, you know? There is ‘yourself’, your soul tethered to a mortal body. And then there are the images that people have made of you when they meet you. That woman there—” you pointed to a young woman who was staring. The woman looked away quickly after noticing that you had noticed her. “She has an image of you. But you have never met her. What does she think of you? A cool, mysterious man who hangs around a strange woman? What does she think of me? And we now have an image of her, too; another version of herself is born into the world, and she doesn’t even know it. She will never know what we think of her, and we will never know what she thought of us. We will never meet the other personas of ourselves in this world. I find that to be immeasurably sad.”

He merely scoffed. “May I offer you some advise? You might find it helpful to be more concise. I stopped listening.”

You laughed to yourself, patting the brush in your sleeve. “I might have stopped listening to myself a long time ago, as well.”

 

\---

“This is where we part, then.”

Jin looked down at you, his hand resting on his swords. You smiled gently.

“Thank you for saving me. And thank you for sharing your story with me.”

“That day…” he said suddenly. “In the rain. You came up to me, and asked me if I was crying. When I said no, you believed that I was lying.”

“Yes, I remember.”

“Why did you think I was lying?”

“Because I had a dream about you.”

“You had never met me before,” he said sharply, narrowing his eyes. The grip on the katana’s hilt tightened, drawing your attention. “How would you have known me?”

“Perhaps I was dreaming about another version of you. But all I remembered from that dream was seeing you cry. When I saw you on the street, I couldn’t believe it… that is why I thought you were lying to me. I thought, ‘this man was sobbing on my shoulder in my dreams, and he shows up in the mortal world.’ But whether or not you were telling the truth matters little to me, now.”

He said nothing, but the grip on his weapons slackened, bringing you relief you as well.

“It is strange, I know.”

He said nothing but reached forwards for your face. You inhaled a breath sharply, eyes widened when his slender fingers touched your hair. He ran his hand through your bangs, ruining the way you had pinned it up, but you didn’t mind as your hair fell out of the style. The wispy strands fluttered against your face and you saw a flash of movement out the corner of your eye.

“An insect,” Jin explained succinctly. Your shoulders slumped ever so slightly. What had you been hoping for? But that was not all that had surprised you; you still could not forget his calm face when he had slaughtered that magistrate. Jin would save the life of a fly, but not that of a fellow man.

“You’re a strange man, Jin,” you blurted out before you were able to think much else of it. He raised an eyebrow and you tucked the hair he had dishevelled behind an ear. “You’re… you’re very, very strange. But I don’t mind that.”

“Would you… care to see one more sunrise in my company?” He cocked his head slightly. “There is a vision of you in my head that I would like to confirm the truthfulness of.”

The brush in your pocket was heavy but you smiled again, this time, less wearily. The hair you had tried to tuck away flew out of place, fluttering into your eyes. Even so, you did not blink, afraid that he might disappear if you did.

“All right, then.”

 

\---

_Are you a good man?_

_His name was not read as ‘Man’_

_But still, he was one._

_A sinner; reject; outcast_

_To me, he was a good Man._

 

\---

“You’ve made it hard for me to leave,” you mumbled into the nape of his neck, the ends of his long silken hair tickling your nose. You wrapped your arms around him tightly, giving him your warmth, taking pleasure in the feeling of his bare skin with yours.

He did not return the embrace, but he also didn’t move or reject you, so perhaps that was his way of showing affection.

“In your mind,” you continued, not bothered with his customary silence. “Am I a good woman?”

“No,” he replied.

“A bad one?”

“No.”

“Who am I, then?”

“You’re merely a woman who’s on my mind.”

“Oh, how descriptive. You should write poems.”

His chuckle reverberated through his chest through your ear, warming you.

“Do you think I’m a liar?” you asked, this time, without humour. He breathed for a moment.

“Yes.”

“What do you think I lied about?”

“The poems you write. Do you really write them just for other’s pleasure?”

You laughed gently. “No. You got me. I write them as proof that I was alive.”

“So, you are one who desperately clings onto the past. Always stopping to look back, then.”

“Yes. I am not as brave as you, who only moves forwards.”

“It is not bravery. It is just what I must do.”

You sighed and got up, wrapping your kimono around yourself. You looked down at him a last time.

“Did you lie to me then? When you said you weren’t crying?”

“Yes. I had just run from my dojo, and with the rain, the memory and pain caught up with me. I was startled when you guessed it, so I lied out of habit. I did not mean to.”

You got off of him and continued to get dressed, smiling wistfully. The room was silent. You turned back to look at him, but he was already leaving, a foot out the door.

“It was nice meeting you, Jin. The real you, instead of the image I have made of you.”

“Likewise.” He turned round to look at you, his expression indecipherable. He thought about what to say. “Perhaps… perhaps I will meet you again through your poems.”

“Yes, I hope so.” You turned away. “Perhaps I will meet you in my dreams again.”

“Perhaps. I hope so.”

 

\---

“Did you hear?”

“About what?”

“The girl poet who was just executed.”

“Ah, public execution?”

“Apparently she wrote some slander against Lord Tokugawa Ieyasu. Not only that, she wrote poems about isolationist policies that were clearly meant to spark a revolution.”

“Is she crazy? Dumb bitches like that should’ve kept writing poems about being heartsick and nature. That kinda bull.”

“Jin. Jin! What are you doing? We’ve gotta keep walking!” Fuu waved a hand in front of the tall ronin’s face disgruntledly, stretching up in her sandals. “Come on, if we don’t move, Mugen’ll leave us behind, y’know!”

“…er book was published. It’s being distributed in the underground.”

“Seriously?! The police let that happen?”

“Some of the officers are interested in it themselves, I think. I read an excerpt, but not all of them are about revolutions or leze majesty and that jack. Some of them are really vague.”

“Yeah?”

“I read one about some man. Talkin’ both love, I think. It’s not bad, though. I gotta hope that this crazy woman’s stuff lasts for the ages.”

Jin’s eyes slid away from the two men and he followed after his companions silently. Mugen, as promised, had not waited. Jin’s brother in death would leave him behind if he did not quicken his pace. Fuu, who probably trusted Jin to catch up, had also moved forwards to Mugen. Those two walked side by side, an odd couple indeed. The sun was just setting over the horizon, and he hesitated a moment to look out to it. Soon night would fall. Soon Hell would blaze within the hearts and souls of man. It would be a cycle of that until the next sunrise.

A tear traced its way down his cheek; but only one. Nothing more and nothing less. He dabbed it away with his sleeve, sighing gently from his nose. Then, he turned his head forwards and kept walking, the false image of you that he kept close laughing gently at his side.

 

\---

_Are you a good man?_

_And, am I a good woman?_

_The sun rises; sets._

_I look away from the past_

_Now, moving forwards… to light._

**Author's Note:**

> Elsewhere: https://goo.gl/xA4fH9


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